


Folds in Alagaësia

by Kefi



Category: The Inheritance Cycle - Christopher Paolini
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Universe, Character Development, Character Study, Developing Relationship, Drabble, Fluff, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gen, Letters, Long-Distance Friendship, Long-Distance Relationship, Long-Term Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:55:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27647135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kefi/pseuds/Kefi
Summary: A look into the letters Eragon and Arya send back and forth. Arya's POV, post-inheritance.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 18





	Folds in Alagaësia

**Author's Note:**

> A short drabble about Eragon's inability to do oragami. Really just an excuse to post more fluff and practice writing Arya's character. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

The first was a crumpled ball of paper. Arriving roughly a month after Eragon had departed, it drifted into the meeting hall, rising on soft updrafts of summer breeze before landing compliantly in her outstretched palm. The letter was touch-worn and soft where her fingers traced the horrendously creased, wrinkled folds- indelible scars from crafts attempted and promptly abandoned. The voices of the tribunal droned on, but she remained captivated, imagining the frustrated blush of his cheeks as the paper continued to thwart his efforts, trying again and again, to no avail, to force the stationary into intricate, folded artistry. Her lips quirked upward slightly at the thought, not enough to disrupt her stoic composure as she listened to the conferring Elven houses, but enough that she had to consciously focus her breathing. Arya fixed her gaze on one of the bright, spell-bound lanterns until she was sure there was no threat of a stray, hitching breath of amusement betraying her preoccupation. Then, under the table, she covertly unfurled the note and read the short letter. Its contents were pragmatic and inconsequential, the tone restrained, and yet, it lit within her a glowing warmth that she found difficult to dispel. The careful inscription at the bottom, though, is what finally did her in. Eragon’s messy scrawl of: “I gave up,” slashed with such childish vexation at being unable to master the art of paper folding destroyed her self-possession, instantly and completely. The forest rang with her laughter, and ignoring the stares of the council, she curled in on herself, unable to even muffle the sound of her mirth. Shoulders shaking, she quickly pocketed the missive, intending to stow it and all future letters within the adorned chest in her chambers as soon as the assembly was dismissed. 

The fifth was a neatly folded square sheet. It appeared at her bedside in a whoosh of blue fire and a booming clap of sound. The red wax seal was just beginning to melt when she rescued it from the flames, extinguishing the smoldering letter with a murmured word in the old tongue. A distinct fingerprint- _his_ \- could be made out in the softened wax, and she carefully peeled the seal off, wanting to preserve that tangible, intact remnant of him. As Arya read, she held the etched pattern of his hand within her own, the corner of wax hidden, tucked securely behind folded fingers. Though he relayed only official news, she easily perceived his heartache and yearning in the empty spaces between words, and unable to reach out for him as her heart wanted, clenched the token closer, eyes squeezing shut. Never had the distance between them felt so vast. Much as the scent of smoke lingers, he remained on her mind long after the burned, soot-stained paper had been settled in the box beside the others. 

The eleventh was delivered to her with many apologies and flustered bows, for one of the newer Elven ambassadors had nearly disposed of it. This was understandable, for the missive, an odd collection of papers, also contained what appeared to be a report from the Dwarves- a document that Eragon had clearly sent by accident and would sorely miss when he realized it had been misplaced. The sheaf of papers was weighty, and landed on her lectern with an audible _thud._ His intended message, in contrast, was brief and somewhat distracted. Arya made short work of it, and eyeing the remaining papers, her interest, albeit a little guiltily, piqued, she leaned closer. In the margin of the report he had noted with careful precision his annotations and insights of current and future political strategies. That held her attention much more effectively. Eragon seemed to be trying to outmaneuver the nearest Dwarf clan leader, pressuring them into supporting the Riders with needed supplies, but was being met with mixed success. The wispy pressure of his quill as he wrote _Ask Orik??_ Spoke of his hesitancy to use his friendship with the Dwarven king to overpower and impel. Even leagues away, her instincts still compelled her to rescue him, to help him navigate these sensitive political waters from afar. The urge increased as she spied a large splotch of wine adorning the top corner of the page, and brow pulling together in concern, she made a note to check on him next they spoke. The final comment was a reminder he had written to himself, one that made her heart stutter as she read it: _Update Arya_. It had been penned with such pressure that an exact duplicate had been debossed onto the torn page beneath, leaving a raised, grainy texture that she couldn’t help but run her fingers over repeatedly. Opening the chest, she once more stowed away a piece for herself, the part bearing her name, and sent the rest of the document back with the next grass ship containing her reply. 

She almost mistook the twentieth for a falling snowflake. It floated through the air, landing in the branches of a tree near her hut. The white sheet had been manipulated, folded into a small, round container the size of a hazelnut. Though damp and limp, it held its shape, and radiating pride at his success, she snagged it from where it had entangled itself in the needles of the pine. The pulpy tissue all but dissolved as she opened it, but apparently this was intentional, for within was a beautiful flower, still alive and healthy. Beside its white and red center were two short lines of writing: _This reminded me of you._ Caressing the petals, her eyes sparkling with restrained emotion, she planted the rose in the soft dirt, in direct-eyesight of her chambers. The second line made her face break into a delighted smile: _I still can’t do ships, but I can manage paper balls_.

The thirty fifth made her do a double take. A majestic dragon of braided grass, a near perfect miniature of Firnen, soared into her study. Tiny gales buffered her face as it landed, and she bent closer to inspect it. In its seed-sized talons it carried a scroll tied together with flower stems. With a soft tug, the note was freed, the dragon becoming motionless as the spell fueling it faded. She gently relocated the creature to her desk, where, glancing at it periodically, she unrolled the letter and began to read. A smile tugged at her lips. For the first time in a long while she detected within him signs of true happiness, suggestions that he, at long last, was settling into his new life; and although she wished to be there with him, she resigned herself to this new manner of friendship, savoring whatever connection they were granted. Arya would have been content to sit there in quiet reflection, and would have, continuing to gaze wistfully at the grass-woven dragon, if not for his parting words. His somewhat guilty confession of: “I didn’t craft this, Blödhgarm did,” nearly doubled her over, the forest ringing with her laughter once more as she set the scroll in the adorned box now full of his letters. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments always appreciated. <3


End file.
